


Where Is Your Boy Tonight

by kopperblaze



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit RPF
Genre: M/M, Substance Abuse, drug usage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-29
Updated: 2014-03-25
Packaged: 2018-01-02 23:26:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1062922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kopperblaze/pseuds/kopperblaze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Dean is an alcoholic, drug addict, nearly homeless artistic wreck with many issues. Richard is an uptight, control freak business man, with all his future figured out. They were never meant to cross paths, but destiny had other plans. How can two, different as hell man, from completely different worlds, fall so helplessly in love?"</p><p>(fill for the hobbit kink meme)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Richard’s alarm sounds at 7 every morning, even on weekends. He leaves the house at 7:30 and starts work at 8:00. He’s never been late in all his live. Saturday is laundry day, and on Sundays he goes to Graham’s for Sunday roasts. At any given event he’ll consume no more than three alcoholic beverages. He likes quality coffee (with milk, no sugar), documentaries, bullet-point lists, and Tolkien. He arrives home from work between 5:30 and 5:45 and spends the rest of the evening cooking dinner, watching TV and/or reading, and is in bed no later than by 10:30. 

Richard’s life is based on carefully constructed, tried and tested routines and that’s the way he likes it. Nothing unexpected ever happens. 

Not until the day he takes the tiniest of detours, which brings his meticulous construct crashing down. 

~

“Have you been to Tinker and Bell yet?” Lee asks, lifting the top half of his burger and eying it critically. When there’re no gherkins in sight he puts it back on and takes a satisfied bite. 

“No,” Richard shakes his head. 

“You really should,” Lee speaks with his mouth full and Richard pulls a face at his head accountant’s lacking manners. “Best coffee in town.” 

“Oh?” Richard does appreciate a good cup of coffee. The place he usually drops by on his way home is not excellent, but the coffee is consistent in its mediocre quality. 

“Yeah,” Lee nods and swallows. “Not too far either, you should really check it out. ’s on your way to the tube, if you don’t go via the main road.” 

Richard hums and frowns at his salad. He has been feeling a little out of sorts lately, maybe trying something new will shake him out of it. Besides, it’s Monday and he deserves a treat. Quality coffee sounds like the thing to go for. 

~

Tinker and Bell doesn’t _look_ like the kind of place that serves quality coffee. Richard eyes it from across the street, questioning Lee’s judgement. Should he risk it, or brave the journey home without coffee? But ultimately crappy coffee is better than no coffee, right? 

With that in mind Richard crosses the road. A few feet away from the coffee shop a guy is huddled up against the wall, watching Richard. He’s wearing a black beanie, and the hood of his green hoodie is pulled up as well. Richard avoids eye-contact and quickly enters the coffee shop. A little bell jingles when he pushes the door open, and he’s hit with the warm smell of freshly ground coffee. 

The inside is much cosier and cleaner than the outside let on, small tables scattered across the floor, only a few of them occupied. The walls have been painted a burnt red, which should be oppressive but is actually cosy. There are various posters and paintings on the walls. 

“Hi. What can I get you today?” The girl behind the counter asks with a smile. She’s wearing a black apron and a black polo shirt with ‘Tinker and Bell’ stitched on the chest. 

“A medium Americano to go, please.” They don’t seem to have fancy names for the different sizes, which is a definite plus in Richard’s book. He’s forever confused where to order what, and the last time the barista at Costa’s lectured him about size names for five minutes when he ordered a venti. 

“Gotcha.” The girl sets to work on the giant coffee machine and Richard takes the time to look around a little more. The counter is a deep mahogany colour, like the rest of the cafe’s interior. In a display to his right there are muffins and brownies and some mini-cakes, all advertised as “home-made”. If the coffee is really good he might get something for breakfast here tomorrow  
morning. 

“Here you go, sir. Sugar and milk are just to your left,” the girl smiles and hands his cup over. Richard mumbles his thanks and pays for his coffee, moving to pour in some milk and put the lid on. If the coffee tastes as good as it smells, he’ll not only have to forgive Lee for sending him here but thank him for it. 

Richard replies to the enthusiastic “Bye!” of the barista with a more subdued goodbye of his own and steps back out onto the street. It’s November and getting dark even though it’s barely past five. An icy wind howls through the streets and Richard pulls his shoulders up higher as he walks towards the tube stop. 

He doesn’t get very far before somebody crashes into him from behind, jostling him forward. Some of the coffee spills over Richards hand, scalding his skin. 

“Oh, mate, I’m really sorry.” 

Richard turns around and comes face to face with the guy who was huddled next to the coffee shop earlier. Tufts of blond hair peek out from his beanie and he’s looking up at Richard with stormy blue eyes, deep shadows beneath them. He stands a little too close for comfort. Seriously, this is what happens when Lee sends him places like this. 

Taking a step back Richard forces himself to give the man a curt smile before he turns and continues on his way. Transferring the cup of coffee from one hand to the other he shakes his hand, wishing he had a tissue with him to wipe away the remaining stickiness from the spilled drink. 

It’s then that he realises that this is not a busy street and there was no reason for the man to crash into him. Not unless he’d been running and couldn’t come to a stop. In which case he would’ve been going in the same direction as Richard. When he turns around he sees the guy running in the opposite direction. 

A heavy feeling settles in his gut and he reaches into his messenger bag. His wallet is not in its usual compartment. Putting the coffee down carelessly on the windowsill next to him Richard  
wrenches his bag open and looks through it, getting more frantic by the second. His wallet is gone.

“Fuck.” Before he has time to think about it, Richard is sprinting down the street, eyes fixed on the figure in the distance. The guy’s got a good headstart, but Richard is taller than him, with longer legs. Graham pestering him to make use of the company’s gym seems to be paying off at long last. 

The guy looks back over his shoulder and Richard can see his eyes widen in panic. He’s less than an arm’s reach away. He should probably yell for the man to stop, but his brain doesn’t transmit the message to his mouth. Instead Richard reaches out. He’s almost able to grab the back of the thief’s hoodie, when he suddenly takes a sharp left. 

Richard comes to a stumbling stop, almost falling over his own legs. It takes a second to regain his balance but then he whirls around and follows the man into the alley.  
It turns out to be a dead end. 

“Fuck!” The guy curses and looks around frantically, looking for an escape. Finding none his eyes turn to Richard, who has slowed down to a walk. His lungs are burning and he has to take a few breaths before he can speak. 

“Give me back my wallet and I won’t call the police.” 

The guy lifts his hands like Richard is pointing a gun his way. 

“Sorry. Mate, I’m really sorry.” He holds out Richard’s wallet with a smile that he probably thinks is charming. 

Richard’s fingers close around the man’s wrist, pulling him closer. 

“You just stole my wallet and all you have to say is ‘sorry, mate’?” He hisses. Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with people? 

“I. . . yes?” The guy mumbles, biting his bottom lip. Richard can feel his hands trembling. 

“I was just really hungry and I thought,” the guy trails off and sighs in frustration, trying to pull his hand out of Richard’s grasp. “Look, I’m sorry. Please don’t call the cops.” 

Richard takes his wallet with his free hand before he let’s the guy go. 

“You stole my wallet because you’re hungry?” Richard is ready to scoff and brand it a terrible lie, but looking at the guy in front of him, really looking, makes him aware of how shabby his clothes are; in the dim twilight of the alley the shadows beneath his eyes look like bruises. 

“Yes,” the guy mumbles and rubs the back of his neck. He almost seems embarrassed. Either he’s a great actor or he’s not a common thief after all. 

To Richard, who has never had to worry about money, it’s an alien thought that somebody can’t afford food. Has privilege made him ignorant?

“If you’re that hungry I’ll buy you food.” 

“What?” The guy looks up, eyes narrowed suspiciously. 

“I said if you’re hungry, I’ll buy you food.” 

“You’re serious?” Blue eyes muster him like they expect Richard to start laughing. “You could just give me some money, you know?” 

Richard smiles wryly. “Nice try. I’ll buy you dinner. Take it or leave it.” Ignorant he may be, but Richard isn’t stupid. Buying someone food is a nice gesture, but he isn’t going to pay for someone’s addiction. 

The guy stuffs his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and bounces on the balls of his feet. Richard takes a step back, ready to leave. He’s already starting to regret this. Apparently Monday is a day where he makes wildly inappropriate decisions, like trying out a new coffee shop. 

“Okay. Fine.” 

Richard turns and walks back out of the alley. “Come along, then.” 

Looking left and right Richard finds nothing but unfamiliar streets. With a sigh he pulls out his phone and opens Maps. This was not how he planned to spend his evening. A glass of red wine and _A Dance With Dragons_ had been the plan for tonight. Instead he’s having dinner with a stranger who stole his wallet. Well. At least he won’t have to cook himself. And he’ll have done a good deed. 

“There’s a McDonald’s right around the corner, you know?” The guy supplies helpfully. Richard ignores him and narrows his eyes as he scrolls through the options nearby before tapping one. 

“Turn right,” the phone navigation intones.

“Wow, fancy phone,” blue eyes comments and follows when Richard starts walking. “There’s a Subway if we take the next left.” 

“I pay, I pick.” If he’s going to shell out for dinner, Richard wants something quality, not a sub. Sure, it would be quicker to buy the guy a sandwich and send him on his way, but it feels wrong.  
Blue eyes is probably working one of those minimum wage jobs and _lives_ on subs when he’s not skint. 

“Fine,” blue eyes huffs. “What’s your name?” 

“Richard.” 

“Hi Richard, I’m Dean.” 

From the corner of his eyes Richard sees Dean smiling. He absolutely doesn’t think that it’s a nice smile. That’d be ridiculous. 

They walk the rest of the way in silence. 

~

“Dude, I can’t go in there!” 

Richard looks from the restaurant door to Dean and raises an eyebrow. 

“Don’t like steak?” 

“What? Yes of course I like steak, but this place is _expensive_.” Dean is gesturing towards the restaurant, voice pitched slightly higher than usual. Richard doesn’t understand the  
problem. 

“I already said I’ll pay.” 

“Richard, they have tablecloths.” 

Richard is officially lost. Why would there be a problem with tablecloths? It’s not a phobia he’s ever heard about. 

Dean groans and shakes his head. 

“If this is your idea of a joke than ha ha, very funny.” He looks pissed off and takes a step back. 

“Wait, what?” Does Dean honestly think he would promise him food and then leave him out in the cold? What kind of cruel person would do that? 

“This isn’t a joke, I promise.” Before Dean can protest Richard grabs his hand and pulls him through the doors. The restaurant is busy, a mix of voices, background music, and plates clattering greeting them. 

“Good Evening!” The cheerful waitress smiles at Richard. The corners of her lips twitch when her eyes pass over Dean. 

“Table for two?” 

“Yes,” Richard nods, taking his heavy winter coat off and hanging it on the coatrack. He turns to Dean, but the other man is only wearing a hoodie. Under the bright lights of the restaurant  
Richard sees the blueish tint of Dean’s lips the darkness concealed. 

“If you’ll follow me.” The waitress interrupts and leads them through the restaurant to a table in a corner close to the toilets. Richard would like to think that it’s a coincidence. 

“What can I get you to drink?” The waitress hands them the menus once they’re seated. Richard briefly considers ordering a bottle of wine, but one look at Dean changes his mind. 

“A bottle of water, please. Unless you want anything else, Dean?” 

Dean shakes his head. 

“One bottle of water, coming right up.” 

When the waitress leaves Dean’s shoulders sag in relief. 

“The tablecloths are not that bad, are they?” Richard asks with a small smile, opening his menu. Dean makes a nonsensical noise and hides behind his own menu. 

Richard is trying to decide on a side when Dean peeks over the top of his card. 

“Uh, Richard?” 

“Yes?”

“You have seen the prices, right?” 

“Yes?” 

“Oh. Okay then.” His blue eyes disappear again. Richard wishes he’d take off his ridiculous beanie. 

The waitress returns with a chilled bottle of water and two glasses. 

“There you go. Have you decided on something already?” 

“I’ll have the rib-eye, medium rare, with grilled vegetables, potatoes and sour cream.” Richard closes his menu and leans back in his chair. 

The waitress touches her stylus to the touch screen device she’s holding. 

“And for you, sir?” She asks, turning to Dean, who looks like a deer caught in the headlights. 

“I. . . uhm. . .,” he fiddles with his menu. “I’ll have the same.” 

The waitress nods and takes the menus from them. “Coming right up.” 

Neither of them speak a word after she leaves. Dean sits hunched over, elbows on the table and beanie still firmly on his head. He looks washed out and tired and keeps pulling the sleeves of his  
hoodie up until they almost cover his hands. 

“So, Dean. What do you do?” Richard never claimed to be good at small talk. Usually when he meets new people it’s at business meetings or functions and they talk shop. 

Dean narrows his eyes. “I’m a billionaire, isn’t that obvious?” 

Richard quirks an eyebrow. He’d been asking a normal question, there is no need to get snotty. Dean isn’t a teenager anymore either, he should’ve outgrown snottiness by now. 

“Did you recently lose your job, then?” 

“Noooo.” Dean draws out the ‘o’ like Richard’s just asked a really, really stupid question. It’s entirely possible that this is the weirdest conversation Richard’s had in his entire life, and that  
includes the conference call with the Japanese guy who tried to get Richard to do a dance routine with him. To ‘break the ice’. 

“Right. Sorry,” he huffs and takes a sip of water. “Where do you live?” He can’t just sit here in silence until their food arrives, so the rehearsed catalogue of small talk questions keeps spilling over his lips. 

“You know,” Dean shrugs and fiddles with the cutlery, not meeting Richard’s eyes. “Here and there. Sometimes I kip at mates’ places.” 

Richard bites his tongue before he can put his foot in even more, asking questions that would be perfectly polite under different circumstances. Great. He’s not only buying dinner for a poor stranger, he’s buying dinner for a homeless guy. 

Taking a deep breath Richard firmly tells himself that he can do this. It’s a little out of his comfort zone, but hey, didn’t he write in his CV that he likes new challenges? Never mind that the last time he had to write a CV was about . . . well, years ago. 

“You’re not from here I take it? Because of, you know. The accent.” It’s a good start. There is no possible way for him to put his foot in with a question like that. Unless Dean was evicted from his home country, but Richard highly doubts that. 

“I’m from New Zealand.” Dean sounds less defensive this time. Definitely a step in the right direction. 

“You’re a long way from home then.” Richard can’t imagine living so far away from his childhood home. He doesn’t visit his parents often, but it’s comforting to know that they’re just a drive away. 

“Yeah,” Dean shrugs, tugging on the sleeves of his hoodie again. “I’ve been in London for some time now though.” 

“Have you?” Richard really wants to know how somebody ends up homeless halfway across the world from his home. 

“Yep,” Dean nods. Either he’s ignoring Richard’s drift, or not getting it. 

“Why’d you exchange New Zealand for rainy England?” 

“Better opportunities here.” Dean tilts his head to the side and looks at Richard, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. When he continues to speak it feels like Richard’s passed a test. “I’m an artist. London seemed like my kind of city.” 

Ah, an artist. Part of Richard has always admired artists, thinking their minds must be comparable to Wonderland, full of ideas and never still. Another part of him doesn’t quite get “artist” as a job. Irregular working hours, unreliable income, no need to wear suits to work or sit in meetings with your boss. It all feels particularly… un-job-like to Richard. Accountant, waiter, sales assistant, manager, they are all clearly defined positions. But “artist” is a bit of a vague term. It’s neither here nor there. What makes an artist an artist? What entitles anyone to list “artist” as their job? 

“Are you a painter?” Richard asks, trying to narrow it down. He’s been to the Tate, he knows a little about art. 

“Kinda. I mainly do photography, but I paint as well.” 

Richard’s mother always says he has no eye for taking good pictures. To be fair, if he ever takes pictures it’s on holidays, and then he holds the camera up and snaps a half-hearted picture of whatever great sight he’s standing in front of. He does it mostly because it seems the thing to do. 

“Sounds interesting. Nature photography or something else?” 

“Sometimes. I mean, I do a number of different stuff, not just one overall theme. My last project back home was about the Vietnam War,” Dean replies, the earlier snappiness gone completely from his voice. 

It’s far away from everything Richard expected. He already dreaded Dean to answer ‘Modern Art’, because Richard really doesn’t _understand_ Modern Art, with the colourful circles and rectangles. But this? This sounds like something with a concept and a lot of thought behind it. 

“Tell me about it?” 

Dean hesitates at first, but then he starts talking, telling Richard about his inspiration for the project, the weeks he spent researching and getting everything together, organising a shoot and getting the pictures just right. He’s talking a mile a minute, gesturing wildly with his hands to emphasise his words. There’s a spark in his eyes that wasn’t there before and Richard finds himself fascinated. It’s like the sun peeking out of a sea of rainclouds; a light between the darkness that you desperately want to see more of. 

The arrival of their food is what brings an end to Dean’s monologue. Richard could’ve listened to him a good while longer. He waits until the waitress is gone before he turns to Dean again. 

“That sounds fascinating. I would love to see some of your work.” 

Dean deflates a little and Richard wants to kick himself. What did he say wrong this time? 

“Most of my stuff’s back in New Zealand,” Dean admits and picks up his cutlery, cutting his steak with little grace and a lot of enthusiasm. 

“Surely you’ve taken some pictures in London?” Richard asks, taking a more methodical approach to cutting his food. 

“Well, yeah,” Dean shrugs around a mouthful of food. “But I kinda don’t have my camera anymore and it’s complicated. I haven’t taken pictures in a while.” 

Richard barely understands him because he’s talking so fast. 

“Oh wow. This is really, really good.” Dean takes another bite and makes a sound in the back of his throat that comes close to a moan. 

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” Richard says, deciding not to push the topic of Dean’s photography anymore. They end up talking about books. It turns out that Dean’s an avid reader, shares some  
of Richard’s favourites, and even took a few literature classes in college. He’s a puzzle Richard can’t solve. How does a well-educated, passionate man like Dean end up in a position where he  
can’t even afford food? 

Richard pays for dinner, handing over his credit card without so much as batting an eyelash, whereas Dean winces when he hears the total. The waitress remains impeccably friendly, but there’s something about her strained smile and the way she talks that makes it obvious that she’ll be happy to see the back of them. Or well, of Dean. Maybe Richard should’ve asked him to take off his beanie after all. 

Stepping outside they’re greeted by an icy gust of wind. Dean pulls his hood up over his head again and wraps his arms around himself. 

“Thanks for dinner, Richard. I really appreciate it. And sorry again about, you know. Your wallet.” Dean bounces on the balls of his feet. 

Where are you sleeping tonight? Should I buy you a coat? Why are you not taking pictures anymore? Are you going to be okay? 

Questions run through Richard’s mind at rapid speed, but in the end he just says: “You’re welcome.” 

Dean smiles and wiggles his fingers in an awkward sort of half-wave, before he turns and walks away. 

~

When Richard lies in bed that night and listens to the rain softly taping against the window he can’t help thinking about Dean. Has he somewhere to stay for the night or is he out there in his ratty hoodie, hiding from the rain in doorways or underground stations? 

He shouldn’t care. He’s not a social worker, and surely there are places to help people like Dean. It’s not his problem, nor his responsibility. With a huff Richard rolls over and closes his eyes firmly. He doesn’t fall asleep until much later.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Richard isn't Batman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, thank you SO MUCH for all the wonderful comments and love on the first chapter. It means the world to me! <3
> 
> I've started a Pinterest for this story with pictures of what I imagine places to look like. Click [here](http://www.pinterest.com/ifloveisnotenou/richards-house/) if you wanna check it out :)

* * *

“Richard, are you listening to me?”

Richard blinks and clears his throat. “Yes, yes of course.”

Peter doesn’t look convinced, but continues to ramble about the conference call with New Zealand later this week, even though they’ve been over the details before. The rain hasn’t let up since last night, and Dean is still on Richard’s mind. He _tries_ not to think about him, but he’s there, lurking on the edges of Richard’s thoughts. It’s starting to border on ridiculous. Richard needs to get a grip. He’ll go home tonight, curl up on the couch with _A Dance with Dragons_ and a glass of red wine, and forget about this.

~

The fact that Richard is standing on front of Tinker and Bell again can be attributed purely to the fact that he didn’t get to try the coffee yesterday. It has nothing, absolutely nothing, to do with him wanting to check if Dean is okay, and he most certainly doesn’t feel relieved when the blond is nowhere in sight.

The bell chimes happily as Richard enters the coffee shop. There are more people in today, probably seeking shelter from the rain. Instead of the girl there’s a guy behind the counter., smiling widely when he spots Richard.

“Hi, I’m Aidan. What can I get you today?”

“A medium Americano, please.”

“Sure thing.” Aidan sets to work, but instead of keeping to himself like the girl had yesterday, he keeps on chatting. “You here for the first time? Don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”

“I haven’t been here often. A colleague recommended you to me,” Richard mumbles, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“Well, I sure hope to see you more often,” Aidan smiles and pours Richard’s coffee into one of the paper cups.

“Milk and sugar’s too your right,” he says, pushing the cup towards Richard. “It’s pissing it down today, hope you don’t live too far from here?”

“Not too far, no.” Richard does kind of live far away, but he spends most of the way on the tube, so the rain isn’t that much of a problem.

“Have a safe trip home, then. And enjoy your coffee!”

Richard smiles and leaves after paying. Outside he stops, huddling under the small roof and trying to open his umbrella with one hand while balancing his coffee in the other.

Stepping back onto the sidewalk Richard looks left and rights. The streets are deserted. There’s a strange feeling in his gut that he can’t identify. Maybe he’s coming down with something.

With a sigh Richard starts walking towards the tube stop, rain tip-tapping on his umbrella. When he glances into the alley next to Tinker and Bell he sees a figure sitting next to the coffee shop’s backdoor. Without consciously thinking about it Richard turns and walks into the alley.

“Dean?” The person is curled up, backpack clutched to his or her chest, hood pulled up. Richard can’t tell the colour of the hoodie because the material is rain-soaked. It could be anyone, but somewhere deep down he has a feeling that it’s Dean. When the person looks up bloodshot, glassy eyes meet Richard’s. Dean’s lips curl into a grin.

“Heeeeeeey.” His head lolls back against the wall.

“What’re you doing out here?” Surely Dean has friends he can stay with? Especially in this weather.

“Sitting,” Dean replies, blinking against the raindrops on his face.

“Dean,” Richard groans. This is a lot worse than he expected. “Why’re you sitting in the rain?”

“Oh,” Dean nods, but it takes him a few seconds to answer. When he does his speech is low and halting, like it takes a lot of effort to make his tongue wrap around the words. “Aidan’s boss is in. Can’t let me sit inside, bad for business ’n all.” He waves his hand dismissively.

“Right.” It doesn’t make a lot of sense, but what did Richard expect?

“Can’t you stay at Aidan’s place?”

“Nuh-uh,” Dean shakes his head. He giggles and does it again, a little faster, before resting his head sideways against the wall. “‘m dizzy now.” His arms tighten around his backpack.

Richard crouches down and holds the umbrella so it shields both of them from the rain, putting his coffee down on the ground.

“Dean.”

Dean pulls a face but turns his head slowly, blinking at Richard. “Hey.”

His smile is wide and open and it makes Richard’s heart ache.

“Is there anywhere you can go?” He asks, keeping his eyes locked with Dean’s. “I’ll call you a cab.”

Dean’s smile falls. “No.”

Richard watches as he furrows his brows and looks down, resting his chin atop his backpack. He can hardly leave him here in the rain and walk home with a clear conscious.

“C’mon, get up.”

~

The cab ride home is quiet, Dean continuing to hug his backpack and looking out of the window with glazed eyes while Richard tries to choke the voice in his mind screaming ‘WHAT ARE YOU DOING?’. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, not exactly, but he knows that it feels like the right thing to do. At least he’ll be able to tell Graham over Sunday roast that yes, he did step out of his comfort zone this week, thank you very much.

Once he’s paid the driver Richard herds Dean into his house, glancing sideways and hoping his neighbours won’t see. Which is stupid because there is no reason Richard can’t bring home a friend. Or a colleague. They won’t know that Dean is a homeless guy who tried to steal Richard’s wallet, it’s not like there are flashing signs announcing it. He just needs to act like everything is normal.

Richard positively shoves Dean into the house and kicks the door closed behind them.

“Wow.” Dean’s mouth hangs open as he looks around. Richard looks around too, trying to spot what has Dean so fascinated. It’s not like his hallway is anything special. Sure, the house is relatively big for one person, but Richard likes his space.

He takes his coat off and hangs it neatly on the coatrack before turning back to Dean, who’s dripping all over the wooden floor.

“How about you take a shower and I’ll get you some dry clothes?” He can panic and freak out while Dean showers.

“Okay,” Dean agrees easily, eyes still flitting around and taking everything in. He sways on his feet.

“How much did you drink?”

“Huh? Didn’t drink anything.” Dean says, turning to look at Richard. Now that he’s not in the rain anymore he looks flushed and his pupils are dilated. Fuck.

Richard pinches the bridge of his nose. So much worse than expected. Is it even safe to leave a drugged person alone in his bathroom? He’ll have to google this because damn, he knows nothing about drugs and how they affect people.

“Right,” he nods. He can do this. “Bathroom is upstairs.” Putting a hand on the small of Dean’s back Richard pushes a little to get the other man moving. Dean’s still wearing his ratty Converse, leaving wet prints all over the floor. Richard figures that’s the least of his problems.

Dean continues to look around like he’s landed in a magical place, tripping over his feet several times and only remaining upright because Richard grips the back of his hoodie.

When they reach the bathroom Richard considers if a shower or a bath would be safer. There’s less danger of falling in the tub, but the added chance of drowning.

Richard grabs a fresh towel and hangs it over the towel warmer. Dean is still standing in the middle of the bathroom, lost and pale.

“Shower’s over here,” Richard says, gesturing to the walk-in shower. “I’ll get some dry clothes for you and put them by the door.”

Dean nods but still doesn’t move.

“Are you going to be all right by yourself?”

“Yeah, sure!” Dean answers, finally coming out of his stupor. “Wow, mate. Your place is, like, the most awesome place, ever.”

Richard rubs the back of his neck and shrugs. He’ll have to forward that compliment to his interior designer.

“I’ll be downstairs when you’re done.”

Richard leaves the bathroom and closes the door behind himself. He stands in the hallway and focuses on breathing for a few seconds. He’ll get clothes for Dean and then he’ll make some food. Do you give drug addicts food? Or coffee? Or does that only work on drunk people? For a second he entertains the thought of calling Graham, but that plan is quickly abandoned. Most likely Graham would yell at him before coming over and Richard really, really doesn’t need an angry Scot in his house. He’s got his hands full as it is.

With a sigh he walks into his bedroom and opens the closet, trying to find clothes that’ll fit Dean.

~

Twenty minutes later Richard has ordered pizza. He has no idea what food Dean likes, but everybody loves pizza, so it felt like a safe bet. Dean, however, is still not downstairs. Richard glances at the clock, then at the stairs. How long can it take to shower? He hasn’t heard any suspicious crashing sounds indicating Dean cracking his head open on the bathroom floor. Then again he could’ve collapsed quietly. Richard shifts his weight from one foot to the other before he gives in and walks upstairs.

“Dean?”

No answer. Richard’s stomach twists uncomfortably.

“Dean, are you all right?” He knocks on the bathroom door and leans in, straining to hear a reply. Nothing. Richard tries the handle and the door swings open.

“Dean?” His heart is hammering in his chest. How is he ever going to explain a drugged person on his bathroom floor to the paramedics?

The air in the bathroom is full of steam.

“Yeah?” Dean’s voice comes from the shower.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Though your shower. . . your shower is really kinda complicated. Managed to turn it on and all eventually but. . . how do I turn it off again?”

Richard blinks and waits for his heartbeat to slow down. Nothing happened, Dean was just having problems with the shower. All is fine.

“You just twist the second know to the right.” Richard absent-mindedly closes the door of the bathroom cabinet.

“The. . . okay.” There’s a clanking sound. “Nope. Not working.”

“Of course it works. Try it again,” Richard huffs. How difficult can it be to operate a shower? No matter if you’re high or not. Sure, his shower has a few more knobs and buttons, but overall it’s not complicated.

“It’s not working, I’m telling you!”

“Heaven’s sake,” Richard mutters and walks over to the shower stall. Dean is a blurry shape behind the steamed up glass.

Richard grabs the towel he placed on the warmer earlier, opens the shower door and blindly thrusts the towel forward.

“Take that and get out.” He fights the urge to close his eyes. He’s not five years old and seeing another man naked shouldn’t be a problem.

The towel is taken from his hands and Dean pads out of the shower, dripping all over the tiled floor. Once he’s out Richard leans into the shower and turns it off, getting the sleeves of his shirt wet and in the process.

“Thanks. You’re, like, my knight in shining armour.” Dean grins, his hair plastered to his face and lashes clumped together. He’s slung the towel around his waist and no matter how much Richard tries not to look, it’s hard not to notice how skinny Dean is.

“Hardly,” he mumbles because Richard has never been anyone’s knight, ever. Managing to turn off his own shower is hardly deserving of knighthood either. “I ordered pizza, should be here soon.” He walks to the door and picks up the clothes he placed there earlier. “Here, put these on. I’ll put your other things in the wash later.”

“Thanks. Oh hey, are those sweatpants Armani or something?”

Richard walks out without replying.

~

Monday night he’s had dinner with a homeless thief. Thursday night he’s got a homeless, high, giggling mess in his living room. Richard’s life has certainly left the path of sanity.

“Are you actually a millionaire?” Dean asks, opening his mouth and catching the string of cheese hanging from the pizza slice he’s holding up. He hasn’t stopped talking since he came downstairs.

“No,” Richard replies and empties half his glass of red wine in one go. Maybe it’ll help his nerves.

“What then? Batman?”

Why on earth would Richard be Batman? He rubs his eyes tiredly and shakes his head.

“I’m the CEO of Jackson Inc.”

“Ah, one of the corporate slaves then,” Dean nods to himself. Richard doesn’t have the energy to feel offended.

“Would’ve been cooler if you were Batman.” Dean finishes the last slice of pizza and licks his fingers with a satisfied sound.

“That was really good pizza.” He falls backwards on the couch and looks over at Richard with heavy-lidded eyes. “Keep on giving me food and I’ll never leave.”

Richard hums because he doesn’t know what to reply to that.

Dean keeps a monologue going after that, talking about Richard’s house (“You do know there are colours besides white and black and gray, right?”), giving a running commentary on the TV programme, and telling Richard all about his favourite TV shows that only run in New Zealand.

“Dean,” Richard sighs, rubbing his temples. “Drink some more water, will you?”

“What? Oh yeah, okay.” Dean sits up and pours himself another glass of water from the carafe Richard put there earlier. It’s almost empty, but Dean’s pupils are still dilated.

“Aren’t you tired?” Because Richard is tired. Very, very tired.

“No,” Dean shakes his head and guzzles the water down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Hey Rich?” He curls up with the blanket and beams at Richard. “Thanks for letting me stay and all.”

Richard nods and finishes his wine. “Do you have to call me that?”

“What? Rich? Yeah. Because you are. You know. Rich.”

There seems no point in arguing with Dean in his current state, so Richard remains silent.

“Richie Rich,” Dean giggles to himself and curls up, disappearing completely under the blanket, except for a few tufts of hair.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” That way Richard can maybe get some work done. It’s starting to feel like he’s taking care of a toddler.

Richard shows Dean how to navigate skyMovies and when the blond clicks through the options and hums happily he gets his laptop. His inbox is full of emails that need answering. Richard pours himself another glass of wine.

~

Three hours later Dean is asleep and Richard’s eyes are burning with exhaustion. His inbox is empty, even the emails he avoided for days answered. Leaning back Richard closes his eyes and relaxes for a few minutes until he feels like he can summon the energy to move. He closes his laptop, turns off the TV and rearranges the blanket so Dean won’t get cold during the night.

He hesitates for a moment. The security system is turned on, so if Dean tries to leave Richard will know. Not that he thinks Dean is going to try and steal something again, but he’ll sleep easier tonight knowing the house is secure. No matter what, Dean is still a stranger he let into his home.

~

Dean is still asleep when Richard makes it downstairs the next morning, carrying Dean’s freshly washed clothes, still warm from the dryer. He puts them down on the living room table and shakes Dean’s shoulder.

“Hey.”

Dean groans and burrows further into the blanket.

“Dean, c’mon, time to get up.”

Sleepy blue eyes peer up at Richard. They’re bloodshot but not glassy, and the pupils look normal. Dean yawns and knuckles at his eyes before sitting up slowly. His hair is standing up at odd angles, flattened against his skull on the side he slept on. Richard almost feels bad about waking him up.

“Your clothes are on the table. We have to leave in twenty minutes.”

Dean nods slowly. The comfortable ease with which he had sprawled out on Richard’s couch the night before is gone. Instead he’s tense, looking around the room like he sees it for the first time.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Richard mumbles and walks into the kitchen to escape the awkwardness. “Do you want coffee or tea?” He calls over his shoulder.

It takes a few seconds before Dean responds in a raspy voice. “Just water.”

Right. Richard makes coffee for himself, only reentering the living room when he feels Dean’s had enough time to get dressed.

“Here’s your water.”

Dean is siting on the couch, back in his own clothes, hood already up over his hair. He looks miserable, far from well rested, and only takes the tiniest sip of water before putting the glass down on the table.

“Right. Thanks for letting me stay and all, but I’d better go now.” Dean gets up, staggering slightly, and reaches for his backpack.

“You don’t have to leave right away,” Richard points out, looking everywhere but at Dean. In the past two days he’s been in more awkward situations than in the past ten years.

“Nah, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” The smile on Dean’s face is forced. Richard bizarrely misses the open smiles from yesterday.

“You’ve done your good deed, so I’d better put you out of your misery now.”

“That’s no-“

“Richard, leave it,” Dean huffs. “Don’t try to make this into something it isn’t.”

Dean leaves before Richard has a chance to reply. The door shutting behind him reverberates in the silence.

Richard stands rooted to the spot, cup of coffee in hand, and stares at the door for a long time. What does Dean think he’s trying to make of their situation? What even is this thing between them in the first place? Because Richard honestly has no clue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my thanks to [an odd ducky](http://archiveofourown.org/users/an_odd_ducky) for being the best writing buddy EVER.
> 
> And if you wanna add me on Tumblr [click here](http://kopperblaze.tumblr.com/) :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much everybody who left comments, kudos, and encouraged me on Tumblr. I've been feeling really insecure lately, so all your support is greatly appreciated <33333

* * *

 

When Richard gets home that evening his house feels empty and cold. The pillows and blanket on the couch are still in disarray, a reminder of the nest Dean built. It should irk Richard, he likes things to be neat, but it looks. . . homely.

Shaking his head at himself Richard walks upstairs to take a shower and change into something more comfortable. A glass of wine, _A Dance with Dragons_ , and Timewatch on TV; a relaxed evening will do him good and get his head back on straight.

Once showered and dressed in casual clothes, Richard walks back downstairs and pours himself a glass of wine. He sits down on the couch, away from the blanket-and-pillows nest, and settles in for reading session with a content sigh.

A few minutes later he huffs in frustration and closes the book with more force than necessary, after reading and re-reading the same paragraph five times. He empties his glass of wine and pushes his head back against the backrest of the couch. Stressed. He’s stressed, that’s all. And who wouldn’t be, after having his wallet stolen, buying a drug addict dinner and bringing him home. It’s natural to be off-balance. Perfectly natural. In a day or two he’ll be back to his structured life and feel better for it.

Giving up on his book Richard turns on the TV instead. Tonight’s episode of Timewatch is interesting, presenting more facts why Atlantis might’ve been real, but Richard has trouble focusing on it. He pulls one of the blankest around himself and lies down, staring unseeingly at the TV.

~

It’s a long way back to the city centre from Richard’s, and Dean is really, really tired. Turns out cocaine doesn’t mix well with Richard’s prescription painkillers. Sure, it made him sleep like a baby, but the come-down is hell.

His eyes feel gritty and Dean rubs them harshly before rooting through the pockets of his jeans, finding enough coins for a bus fare. Not that he knows where the next bus stop is. Or which bus to take. It’s why he prefers to stay in central London. He knows his way around, knows the shortcuts and the tube stations where he can slip through the barriers without anybody noticing. He’s homeless, but he’s still got a neighbourhood.

A neighbourhood he thankfully reaches two hours later. Dean feels like he’s finally able to breathe again, away from the picket fences and perfect lawns, back to the grime where he belongs.

He hangs out with Aidan for a while, gratefully downing the coffee he’s handed, and tells him about Richard because fuck, stuff like that is surreal. Dean’s still only 70% sure it actually happened and wasn’t just a bad trip.

By mid-afternoon Dean’s starting to feel twitchy. Damn his lack of foresight.He should’ve grabbed the whole bottle of painkillers from Richard’s bathroom. They were the good stuff, prescription only.

Dean’s rescue comes in form of Bill strutting into Tinker and Bell.

“Deano! Just the man I was looking for. Party at the warehouse tonight, you’re in, right?”

Ignoring Aidan’s scowl Dean nods. Bill always has stuff he’s willing to share. Sometimes he uses Dean as a guinea pig for new stuff he gets, but Dean doesn’t mind. He gets free drugs out of it, and even if Bill has no freebies, he’s easy enough on the eyes, and not a terrible lay.

“Brilliant,” Bill grins. “Aidan, mate, large caramel macchiato, if you please. Ah, and throw in a slice of chocolate cake as well.”

Dean smiles. Chocolate cake is his favourite. Looks like he’s in for a good night. He pushes away any and all thoughts about steaks and Richard’s earnest blue eyes as he’d listened, actually listened, to Dean talking about photography. It only makes his head and his heart hurt.

“Thanks,” Bill pays and takes his order from Aidan. “You up for some pre-partying?” He winks. Dean grabs his backpack and stands up.

“Sure. Later, Aidan!”

Aidan looks like he bit into a slice of lemon and Dean knows that he’ll never hear the end of it tomorrow. Today he doesn’t care though. There’s chocolate cake and happy pills in his future.

~

Everything in Bill’s apartment smells wrong. Stale and musky, smoke hanging in the air. His sheets are scratchy against Dean’s skin and he’s lying in the wet spot, too tired to move. He can hear the shower going and Bill singing. It sounds distant, like Dean’s head is wrapped in cotton.

Richard’s apartment smelled clean, like Richard. Everything black and white and neat and clean. Dean bets Richard’s sheets are expensive and soft. Not that Dean will ever see him again (or find out if his sheets are silk). There’s no sense in dwelling on how Richard’s the first person who made Dean feel a little less worthless in a long while. All his friends are washed-up artists and critics, too busy listening to their own voices to hear about Dean’s projects, much less be interested in them. Richard had seemed genuinely interested. Or maybe he’s just a damn good actor.

Dean huffs and closes his eyes. Why is he even thinking about Richard? He’s a goody-two-shoes who made Dean his charity project, nothing more.

The shower turns off and a few seconds later the bathroom door opens.

“Deanoooooo,” Bill sing-songs. Dean wishes he’d shut up.

“C’mon, it’s time to go.”

“’m tired,” Dean mumbles, not opening his eyes. Maybe Bill will let him stay here while he goes out.

Bill chuckles. “Oh I’ve got just the thing for that, babe.”

The bed dips and Dean’s sighs. So much for that.

Bill’s skin is warm and damp and Dean tries not to shudder as their chest press together. He feels itchy and strange. Whatever Bill gave him earlier was cheap shit.

Bill’s lips are wet and warm against his. Dean opens up easily to Bill’s probing tongue. He’s rewarded with a pill being pushed into his mouth. He doesn’t know what it is, doesn’t know how it’ll react with what he’s already taken, and most of all, he doesn’t care. He’s got nothing to left to lose.

Dean makes out with Bill for a while longer, lazy and languid as his body starts to warm and the strange itching subsides. His limbs feel twitchy, and all he wants to do is dance. Raising his hands to Bill’s chest Dean pushes him away and sits up. He takes a swig from the half-empty bottle of Johnny Walker on the nightstand.

“Let’s go.”

He needs a bass reverberating through his core.

~

Thursday finds Richard unfocused at work and craving coffee. He ends up walking to the tube via Tinker and Bell again. A proper dose of caffeine will hopefully get his system up and running for a productive evening.

“Hi!” Aidan greets him from behind the counter as soon as Richard steps inside.

“Hello,” Richard mumbles, still not entirely sure how to deal with such enthusiasm.

“Glad to see you back here. Richard, right?”

Richard raises his eyebrows. He doesn’t recall telling Aidan his name.

“Yes?” His reply comes out slow and drawn out.

“Dean told me all about you.”

Richard blinks. “You know Dean?”

He looks around like he’ll see the man in question sitting at one of the tables.

“Yeah. We’re friends. Kinda.”

“Ah,” Richard says awkwardly and studies the menu board above Aidan’s head. “Can I get a medium Americano, please?”

“Yeah, sure,” Aidan sets to work, but ignores Richard’s attempt of ending the conversation. “So, anyway. T’was nice of you to let him stay the other night. My boss was here all day so I couldn’t let him sleep it off in the staff room.”

Richard hums and counts out the money for his coffee.

“T’was such shite weather too. Woulda let him stay at mine, but the missus isn’t too happy about me doing that, so,” Aidan shrugs and smiles sheepishly.

“Understandable,” Richard nods. If he had a boyfriend he wouldn’t be too happy about him bringing home an addict friend either.

“I’ll let Dean know you were here.”

Richard isn’t sure why Aidan would let Dean know, but he can hardly be rude and tell him not to. He smiles and hands over the money when Aidan puts his coffee down on the counter.

“He’s at a party tonight.” Aidan pulls a face. It’s information Richard doesn’t want. He wants his peace and quiet and his routine and order, not his thoughts running wild and circling around a man he’ll most likely never see again.

“Well I hope he’s having fun.” Richard takes his paper cup and steps back. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“Sure,” Aidan’s smile isn’t as bright as before. “See you around, Richard.”

  
~

The world is spinning. Or maybe Dean is spinning, he’s not so sure. The lights of the club turn into dots and lines of colour, and the bodies around him into one gigantic, pulsing mass. His heart is boom-boom-booming against his ribs in time with the music. It feels so good, being weightless and free.

Next to him Richard turns and smiles. Dean pauses, swaying even as he tries to keep still. Richard, proper and posh Richard, would _never_ come to a place like this. Or?

Richard grins, but it’s all wrong. Richard doesn’t grin like that. Dean squeezes his eyes shut. His stomach lurches. When he opens his eyes Richard is gone. Exhaling slowly he runs a hand through his hair and tries to focus, make the world stable for just one second. The situation is starting to feel like a carrousel ride that’s gotten out of control. The music is screeching in Dean’s ears and he can’t fucking _think_.

Richard is standing at the bar, winking at him. Richard is dancing with a girl next to him. Richard is wrapping his arms around him from behind, stroking over his chest and down down down.

Dean struggles to break free and pushes his way through the crowd. He thinks he falls down at one point, his mad scramble for the door blurring together into blinking lights and sweaty bodies. Through sheer dumb luck he finds his way outside and stumbles into the open, cold air hitting him like an icy fist. Dean gasps and tries to draw air into his heaving lungs. His ears are ringing. His knees hit the pavement and he throws up.

  
~

Richard is back at Tinker and Bell because Lee was right and the coffee is excellent, easily three times better than the slush Richard used to get on his way home. Today he might just treat himself to one of the muffins as well.

He hesitates briefly before entering. What if Dean is here today? Richard can’t deny that he’s still been on his mind, but after Aidan told him that Dean was out partying his worrying had decreased rapidly.

Huffing at himself Richard pushed the door open. If Dean is in he’ll make polite small talk while getting his coffee and leave. Easy as that. Endless business parties and galas have taught Richard the art of meaningless pleasantries. It’ll be fine.

The first thing Richard notices upon entering is Aidan standing behind the counter and frowning, carrying himself with none of yesterday’s cheer. Richard almost turns around and leaves, thinking he’s come at a bad moment, before remembering that Aidan is here to make coffee. His mood shouldn’t matter.

The second thing Richard notices is the way Aidan lights up when he spots him.

“Richard!” He rounds the counter. “Good to see you, mate. Dean’s over there, go and have a seat. I’ll bring your coffee over.”

Before Richard gets a chance to reply he’s led over to a table and pushed down in a chair.

“I’ll just be a moment!” Aidan calls and returns to the counter. Richard puts his bag down and shifts in his chair, studying Dean slumped over the table. He’s not sure if the other man is awake.

“Hello,” Richard eventually tries. Dean groans. A few seconds later he slowly raises his head from where it’s been resting on his crossed arms. His eyes are bloodshot and ringed by dark circles, hair a wild mess on his head, and his skin looks pale and puffy.

“Hey,” he mumbles, peering up at a Richard through heavily-lidded eyes. “Watcha doing here?”

“Getting coffee.”

“Ah,” Dean mumbles and nods into his arms.

They sit in silence for a few moments, Richard uncomfortable and Dean half-asleep.

“So, you had a good night?” Richard hadn’t meant for it to come out so snappy. It’s none of his business, really. But seeing him in such a state makes Richard want to shake him and ask if this is really what Dean wants to do with his life.

“Yeah, kinda,” Dean shrugs. Aidan saves Richard from having to reply by putting a cup of coffee down.

“Here you go, Americano, milk no sugar, right?”

Richard nods. It’s impressive that Aidan remembers how he takes his coffee already.

“Thank you.”

Aidan sets a tall glass of water down in front of Dean with a glare. “Drink.”

Dean groans and Aidan turn points at Richard. “Make sure he drinks it.”

Richard, completely stunned, nods.

As soon as Aidan turns his back Dean grimaces. Richard shoots him a stern look., causing Dean to huff again. He raises the glass to his lips and downs half of it in one go. “There. Happy now?”

Richard shrugs. Whatever he’s feeling right now sure isn’t happiness. He stirs his coffee just for the sake of it before taking a sip. The silence between them stretches.

“So, you been up to anything interesting?” Dean asks. He looks so tired, so wear, that just looking at him makes Richard feel an ache deep in his bones.

“No, not really. Work, quiet nights in, reading.” Compared to Dean’s wild life,Richard’s is the very definition of boredom. Dean though lights up like Richard told him the most exciting thing.

“What’re you reading?”

“A Dance With Dragons.” Richard takes another sip of coffee, watching Dean smile wistfully.

“Cool. I really wanna read Game of Thrones.”

“I can lend you the books if you want.” It’s out of Richard’s mouth before he can firmly tell himself that it’s a bad idea.

“Really? Mate that’d be so awesome. Seriously.”

“Sure.” Richard hides a smile against the rim of his mug. Dean’s happiness is infectious. “I’ll drop them off here tomorrow?”

“Brilliant!” Dean’s smile widens before it drops and he turns and unflattering shade of grey. Scrambling to his feet he runs for, presumably, the bathroom. Richard looks after him with a frown.

“I seriously don’t know what to do with him,” Aidan mutters as refills Dean’s glass. Richard drinks his coffee so he won’t have to reply.

“He’ll be better for a few days but then he’ll do shit like that again,” Aidan grouses. Why are people telling Richard all this stuff lately, when he’s trying really hard not to get involved?

“Well,” Richard clears his throat and straightens his coffee cup so the handle is pointing to the right. He can’t say he has experience with such situations. Consequently he’s incapable of offering advice.

A customer walks up to the counter and Aidan excuses himself, rescuing Richard from stringing together a neutral reply. When he absently-minded raises his mug to his lips for the third time only to discover it empty, and Dean still hasn’t come back, he decides that it’s time to call it a day. Richard gathers his things and turns to leave, briefly stopping by the counter to say goodbye to Aidan. He makes a quick escape after that, feeling jittery all the way to the tube station. The coffee Aidan made him must’ve been very strong.

~

After rinsing his mouth out Dean holds onto the sink in the restroom and looks at himself in the mirror. The harsh light isn’t doing him any favours, washing his already pale skin out even more. His eyes are bloodshot and his hair a mess. He could do with a shave. Dean rubs his hand over the stubble on his cheek, squinting, before turning away with a sigh. His reflection isn’t going to get any better.

Stepping out of the bathroom his eyes fall on the empty table. Of course. Why would Richard have stayed? He has a million better things to do, like hanging out in his ridiculous house and doing whatever it is rich people do.

Dean flops back down in his chair and resumes his earlier position, head resting on his hands. All feelings of disappointment at Richard’s departure are clearly fictional and a by-product of hangover-stupidity.

The noise of the coffeeshop fades into the background as Dean dozes. For a while he’s comfortable, but then his limbs start protesting the position. If only he had some painkillers and an actual bed. Dean snorts and idly wonders when the things he took for granted became a luxury. When he can’t ignore the twinge in his back anymore Dean opens his eyes with a groan and slowly sits up, stretching.

“Morning. Back among the living?” Aidan asks, picking up empty mugs from the table. Dean makes a nonsensical noise in reply. He can’t say that he feels alive. More like a zombie that got run over by a truck.

“You closing up already?” he asks, scrubbing a hand through his hair and looking around the empty shop.

“Starting to,” Aidan replies, putting another glass of water and a muffin down in front of Dean. “Gotta clean and close the till, so take your time.”

Dean nods and takes a sip of water, contemplating if he can stomach the muffin or not.  
“Wanna grab a bite to eat after?” Aidan asks over the clattering of dishes. Dean hums, breaks off a piece of muffin and pops it into his mouth to buy himself time. Of course he wants to; he’s craving greasy food, and spending some time with Aidan would be nice. But it’ll be awkward with Dean not being able to pay once again.

“C’mon, mate. Kat’s out tonight and you know I can’t cook for shit. Don’t make me be that sad person sitting at Nando's by themself.”

Most likely it’s a lie, but Dean is forever grateful that Aidan’s giving him an out.

“All right, then. Can’t leave a mate hanging, can I?”

Aidan smiles and Dean sinks back into his chair, closing his eyes and waiting for Aidan to finish up.

~

Richard is already on his way out the door the next morning when his eyes fall on his bookshelf and he remembers the way Dean lit up the day before. Deciding that he can deal with a few awkward moments in order to make somebody happy, Richard grabs "A Game of Thrones" before leaving the house.

Work keeps him busy and Richard only starts thinking about Dean again when he's already standing in front of Tinker and Bell. It’s quiet today, only one of the tables occupied. Aidan is wiping down the counter and singing along to the song on the stereo. He looks up when Richard approaches and grins.

“Richard, hey. Come to save me from boredom?”

Richard smiles and shakes his head. “I would most likely only contribute to your boredom.” He’s not used to people like Aidan, who’re so open and treat him like a friend after only briefly meeting him a handful of times. It’s nice, talking with somebody who’s not just nice because they want Richard to sign a contract.

“Actually I dropped by with the book Dean wanted.” Richard takes the book out of his bag and places it on the counter, not missing the way Aidan’s smile widens a little more.

“Awesome, he’ll be really excited about that.” Aidan takes thumbs through it before placing it next to the coffee machine, his smile falling. “I’ll give it to him when I see him, yeah?” He pours a cup of coffee from the pot of special house blend and hands it to Richard.

“Here, on the house. Thanks for being so nice to Dean and all.”

“Thank you, but that’s not. . . I mean, it’s nothing special.” Richard rubs the back of his neck. Aidan laughs humourlessly.

“Mate, you got no idea. People aren’t nice. Not to him, anyway. Not joking when I say that you and me? We’re pretty much the only people he’s got.”

Richard takes a far too big gulp of coffee in an attempt to cover up his discomfort.

“So yeah, it’s pretty damn special. People think he’s a bad person and treat him like trash. But he’s not. A bad person, I mean. He’s a really good guy he just,” Aidan scrubs a hand through his hair with a frustrated sigh. “He just made a lot of bad choices.”

Richard raises an eyebrow. “I don’t think he’s a bad guy,” he says, leaning his hip against the counter. “But I won’t pretend that I understand him. Or his situation.”

Aidan shakes his head sadly and rubs at a stain on the counter with a dishtowel. “I don’t think he understands himself,” he mumbles. “I found him in the alley out back one day, shivering in the rain. He’d just been kicked out and had nowhere to go, so I let him in and made him a hot drink. He was so fucking grateful and so. . . so normal. I tried to help him out, giving him food and free drinks until my boss got on my case. Anyway, we got on really well. He used to talk a lot about his art and photography in the beginning, about the projects he wanted to work on once he’d gotten things sorted out. Only, he never got his shit together. He started using more and more and well,” Aidan shrugged. “Here we are.”

“Downward spiral.” Classic, Richard thinks. Sad, in a way, but predictable.

Aidan nods, twisting the dishtowel between his fingers. “I tried to get him help, but he’s stubborn. And he’s got all the wrong ‘friends’,” he says, pulling a face. “But he likes you and you’re as good as an influence can get.”

Richard isn’t sure if he feels insulted or flattered. He’s not _that_ much of a good guy. He’s simply altogether boring.

“I try to be,” he mumbles and shrugs. For once Aidan seems to sense that Richard isn’t too keen on continuing their conversation.

“I’ll give him the book when I see him.”

“Thanks,” Richard takes a step back from the counter. “And thanks again for the coffee.”

“No worries, mate. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

Richard nods and leaves, thoughts of Dean once again haunting his mind.

~

Richard goes to Tinker and Bell every day for the rest of the week, establishing a comfortable new routine. Aidan is in most days, except for Friday when the girl from Richard’s first visit is behind the counter again. Her name’s Evangeline and her coffee is almost as good as Aidan’s.

He doesn’t see Dean again, and gradually he slips to the back of Richard’s mind until he’s nothing but a distant memory. It’s for the better, allowing Richard to go back to the simple, predictable life he’s used to.

Richard is about to leave for his lunch break on Monday when his secretary pops her head into his office.

“A call from a Mister Turner for you, he says it’s urgent?”

With a sigh Richard sits back down in his chair. He doesn’t know a Mister Turner, but most likely this has got to do with the record deal Peter wanted him to have a look at.

“Put him through, Miranda.”

Miranda nods and closes the door behind her. A few seconds later his phone rings. As it turns out it’s not a business partner wanting to speak to Richard.

“Richard? Hey. It’s Aidan. From Tinker and Bell.”

Richard’s grip around the receiver tightens. “Aidan, hello.” The other man sounds frantic and a sense of foreboding settles over Richard, twisting his stomach.

“Sorry to ring you up, but I really need your help. It’s about Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://kopperblaze.tumblr.com


	4. Chapter Four

Richard’s stomach is in knots as he approaches the hospital. Aidan is leaning against the wall outside, smoking and looking beyond exhausted, curls in even more disarray than usual. 

“Hello Aidan,” Richard comes to a stop in front of him, torn between awkwardness and panic. “What happened?” 

“Richard, hey,” Aidan gives him a tired smile and flicks his cigarette to the ground, grinding it out with the tip of his boot. He knuckles at his eyes and sighs, shoulders bowed like he’s a world-weary, old man. 

"I'm not sure. . . I mean, I can guess what happened but," he trails off and shrugs. "He didn't come by all weekend and when he finally showed up this morning he was completely out of it. My guess is he's been on a bender since Friday. I tried to get him to the staff room to lie down, but he was getting worse and, well, not really passed out, but kind of,“ Aidan waves his hand.

"Is he...?" Richard swallows, twisting his sweaty palms in the pockets of his coat. 

"They pumped his stomach and are running a few more tests. They...they said it was close, but he'll be fine." Aidan recites, the words sounding hollow. 

"Good. That's...good." Richard runs a hand through his hair, not sure what else he can say. 

"Sorry I called you, I didn't ...there's nobody else." Frustration is etched into every line of Aidan's body. "I didn't want him to be alone here." He doesn't need to add that he didn't want to be alone either. "They asked all kinds of questions and I didn't know how to answer them or how much to tell them." 

"I'm sure you did fine," Richard tries to be reassuring. "Should I get you a coffee?" 

"Nah," Aidan shakes his head. "They'll probably let us see him soon. I...," he glances over at Richard and nervously licks his lips. "They said all kinds of stuff about getting him help, but apparently the waiting lists for shelters are really fucking long. He needs somewhere to stay, Richard." 

Richard nods thoughtfully, until he becomes aware of Aidan’s eyes on him.

"What?" Richard asks, then shakes his head. "Aidan-"

"Richard, please,” Aidan begs and Richard can't look him in the eyes. "He has nowhere to go, and they won't keep him here for long." 

Richard pinches the bridge of his nose and focuses on breathing. What has he gotten himself into?

-

Instead of letting them see Dean, the nurse sends them home, citing that only relatives are allowed to visit him right now. When Aidan forges a story about Richard being Dean’s roommate (and looking so earnest while flat out lying that Richard finds himself jealous) and them being as good as family, she at least tells them that Dean will be discharged tomorrow afternoon, if there are no complications, and let’s them speak to the doctor assigned to Dean’s case.

Richard finds himself back at the hospital the following day, after having ducked out of work early again. It’s becoming a habit that’s raising eyebrows. 

After what feels like endlessly walking around a labyrinth of corridors, Richard finally finds room 210B. He hesitates for a moment before rapping his knuckles on the door and opening it. There are four beds in the room, all of them occupied. In the one closest to the door on the left Dean is sitting, legs dangling over the edge, while a nurse rattles off information he doesn’t seem to be listening to. 

“Yes?” The nurse asks, looking up when Richard steps closer. 

“I’m here to pick up Dean.” Richard ignores the way Dean’s head snaps up so quickly that he looks dizzy, eyes wide with surprise. 

“Oh, wonderful. And there you were thinking nobody would come,” the nurse smiles encouragingly at Dean and pats his knee. “You take care of yourself Dean, all right? Look through the leaflets Doctor Parker gave you.” 

Dean nods, though the hunch of his shoulders and avoidance of eye-contact makes it clear that he’ll most likely not look at the leaflets at all. The nurse sighs and pats his knee again before turning to leave the room. When she passes Richard she stops and gives him a wry smile. “I assume you’ve talked to Dr. Parker?” 

“Yes.” Richard’s mind is still swimming with all the information the doctor rattled off yesterday, and all the information he read up on online when sleep eluded him last night. 

“Good. He’s still got a terrible headache, but don’t give him any painkillers. Make sure he drinks plenty of water today. Don't hesitate to call if you need anything, or if Dean wants to be put on the waiting list for a rehab programme after all. I know that he’s of the opinion it isn't necessary, but," she trails off and shoots a pointed look at Dean sitting hunched over on the edge of the bed. 

"Thank you." Richard forces himself to smile politely. He is relieved when she leaves, but when the door closes behind her he finds himself alone in the room with Dean. Neither of them moves and Richard realises that his shoes are in dire need of cleaning. He's studied them long enough to become aware of the little specks of road dust on the sides. 

"Right." Richard runs a hand through his hair and sighs. He's dealt with far more difficult situations in his life, all he needs to do is take one step at a time. 

"Let's get you-" It feels wrong to refer to his place as ‘home’ where Dean is concerned. But what is it? "Let's get you out of here."

He grabs Dean’s backpack while the blond struggles to his feet, dragging them with every step. The harsh light in the elevator does him no favours, draining his face of all colour and making the bags under his eyes even more bruise-like. It looks like Dean is fighting to stay awake, his eyelids fluttering like butterfly wings, and looking just as fragile. 

They make it to the car and Richard opens the door for Dean, putting his backpack in the back before getting into the driver’s seat. Dean hasn’t managed to fasten his seatbelt, his movements slow and uncoordinated, a scowl on his face. 

“Here, let me help you.” Reaching over Richard buckles Dean in before starting the engine. 

“Where are we going?” Dean asks, looking out of the window. 

“Back to my place. You’ll be staying with me for some time.” 

Dean’s slowly turns his head to look at Richard. “Why?” 

Richard keeps his eyes firmly on the road, but from the corner of his eyes he can see Dean looking at him, lips pursed in a frown. 

Why indeed? Because Dean has nowhere else to go, nobody else who cares. Because Richard has been talked into it by Aidan. Because otherwise Dean will end up sleeping rough, jeopardising his frail health. 

“Because I want you to get better,” he says instead. 

“Oh.” Dean sounds taken aback. “I’m sorry.” 

“What for?” Richard frowns and puts on the turn signal; he double checks left and right before driving into the cross-way. Wherever this conversation is going, he’d prefer it if they have it at home, where he doesn’t have to be mindful of London traffic. 

Dean shifts in his seat and rests his head against the backrest, closing his eyes. “Being an inconvenience.” It comes out like a well practiced line, a truth of life Dean has accepted long ago. 

“You’re not an inconvenience, Dean.” Seriously, why do they have to have this conversation in a moving vehicle? Why do they have to have this conversation at all? 

“It’s okay, Rich. You don’t have to pretend,” Dean murmurs. 

“I’m not pretending.” Richard forces himself to focus on the road and not turn to look at Dean. “You don’t know me well, but trust me when I say that I don’t do things I don’t want to do. So if I wouldn’t want to help you, I wouldn’t.” 

“You’re making it sound so easy.” 

“Maybe you’re just making it complicated.” 

Dean snorts but doesn’t say anything else. 

-

Richard sets Dean up in the guest room, which is light and airy and neat. The bedding smells of clean laundry. Dean burrows into it with a sigh. He misses having fresh laundry. Not that he could ever get it to smell right, not like his mother did. Her washing always smelt fresh and clean, not synthetic, but like she had hung it out outside to dry. He misses it. He misses her. 

The clean linen around him also make Dean aware of his own sorry state, how desperately he needs to take a bath. But a bath would mean movement, and Dean’s not up for that. He’s got a splitting headache, it hurts to swallow, and he’s sore all over. Moving is not an option. 

“Here, I brought you some water.” 

Dean forces his eyes to open a little bit, squinting to bring his surroundings into focus. Richard has put a glass of water down on the nightstand. There’s a straw in the glass so he can drink easier, and Dean is once again taken aback by Richard’s thoughtfulness. 

“Thank you.” His voice is like sandpaper in his throat and Dean swallows painfully. It does nothing to ease the discomfort.He’s been through a lot of unpleasant things in his life, but having his stomach pumped is on the very top of that list. As if the soreness isn’t enough, his thoughts are disappearing in the mist fogging his brain, his mind sticky and slow. 

“Do you need anything else?” Richard asks, and even though he has his eyes closed Dean can feel him hovering. Part of him wishes that Richard would touch him, put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He feels so alone, knowing that a stranger has taken him in out of pity because nobody else will. There’s not a single person in the world who gives a shit about him. Dean feels like he’s caught in a bubble of isolation, watching the world from a distance. 

“No, thanks.” It comes out hollow. Dean doesn’t have the energy to make an effort. 

~ __

_Dean bounds down the stairs and into the kitchen, the smell of freshly ground coffee and toast welcoming him. His father is sitting at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper. He looks up when Dean enters and his eyes narrow, expression turning hostile._

_“What are you doing in my house?”_

_Dean stops dead on his tracks, mouth hanging open. “I…what?”_

_“What are you doing in my house?” His father throws the newspaper down and stands up. “Get out or I’ll call the police.”_

_Dean’s eyes widen and his heart starts to beat rapidly in his chest. “But…but, dad! It’s me, Dean. Your son?”_

_“I don’t have a son named Dean!” Lance’s eyes narrow and he takes a step towards Dean. His father is a funny, laid-back man; Dean has never in his life been afraid of him. Now he is. Lance towers over Dean, a menacing presence pushing him back against the wall. His father’s face contorts and changes into a bizarre and frightening grimace. Dean looks up at the looming figure with his mouth hanging open._

_Somebody starts to scream, high-pitched wails of pain that make Dean flinch and his heart beat so rapidly it hurts. He tries to run, but his shoes stick to the floor like they are covered in chewing gum. Everything happens in slow motion._

_In the adjacent room his mother is kneeling next to a body on the floor. The screaming continues, but her lips are closed. From the floor Dean’s own, dull eyes stare into nothingness._

_“What a pity,” his mother says, looking at the lifeless body. “But better him than Brett.” She stands up and walks away, leaving Dean and his corps behind._

_The screaming continues._

_~_

Dean wakes up in a cold sweat, tangled in the sheets, his heart slamming against his ribs. Around him everything is quiet, the room bathed in the murky light of sundown. He takes a few moments to get his breathing back under control, before he struggles out of bed and from the room, unable to bear the screaming silence. 

He nearly falls down the stairs, blinking the sleep from his eyes and trying to clear his brain from the sticky webs sleep has left behind. Voices from the TV and the clacking of keys greet Dean when he stumbles into the living room, the later sound stopping when Richard catches sight of him. 

“Dean, hey. I didn’t expect you to be up already. Do you need something?” 

Dean shakes his head and makes his unsteady way over to the couch, making sure to avoid the glass coffee table. With his luck he’ll bump into it and send it crashing down. Flopping down on the couch, Dean inhales shakily, feeling like he’s run a marathon. Without thinking he leans into Richard, blearily registering he’s balancing a laptop on his thighs, and what looks like a documentary playing on the TV. 

“Are you sure you don’t need anything?” Richard asks. He smells clean, like lemon soap and tea, and Dean is at once comforted and embarrassed over his own state. 

“No, ‘m fine. Just didn’t wanna be alone,” he mumbles, curling up a little more as he shivers. Richard raises an eyebrow but nods. Leaning to the other side of the couch he grabs a neatly folded blanket and shakes it out, before draping it over Dean with a soft smile. “There you go. I’ll get you some water. Or would you prefer tea? The nurse mentioned that your throat might be sore, some honey in the tea might help with that.” 

Dean curls into the soft, warm blanket and rests his head against the back of the couch, blinking up at Richard. “I…yeah. Tea’d be nice.” He’s not used to being waited on and cared for in the way Richard does. Usually people are annoyed when they have to help him, but Richard. . . Richard looks like he cares. Which is stupid because Dean is an obligation to him and clearly reading too much into the situation. 

He shifts to get comfortable while Richard is gone, wrapping himself up in the blanket, rubbing his cheek against the soft material. On the TV a baby penguin is being hand-fed by a zookeeper and Dean snorts. He can appreciate the irony. And the baby penguin, because like all baby animals, it’s adorable and Dean is man enough to admit that. He keeps watching the documentary as he waits for Richard to return, trying hard to keep his mind blank. It feels like Pandora’s box, like all the demons will come out the moment he thinks beyond baby penguins and tea. 

~

When Richard returns to the living room with two cups of tea - chamomile with honey for Dean and strong black for himself - he finds Dean transfixed by the show on TV. He still looks miserable though, like somebody who’s been sick for a long time. Richard can’t understand why anybody would inflict this on themselves. 

“Here you go.” It takes Dean a few seconds to move and take the mug Richard holds out to him. He cradles it with both hands and hunches over it, like it’s his only source of warmth. Richard sits down and takes a sip of his tea before putting the mug on the coffee table and pulling the laptop into his lap again. He’s not sure what to do with Dean. Start a conversation? Ask him if he wants something to eat? Richard imagines having your stomach pumped is unpleasant enough to banish all thoughts of food. 

“Did you know that penguins can drink salt water?” Dean mumbles, solving the problem for Richard. Glancing over he finds Dean watching him from beneath heavy eyelids and he shifts, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“No, actually, I didn’t know that.” It’s an absurd subject to be talking about, but Richard latches onto it nonetheless, because talking about penguins is easer than talking about Dean’s health, or where things will go from here. 

“Yeah, they have like, an organ or something that converts salt water into normal water,” Dean explains, turning back to look at the TV, sipping his tea slowly and loudly. 

“That’s handy.” Richard glances at the TV before resuming going through his inbox. He’s pondering what to tell the manager of a client who has caused a PR nightmare, when he feels Dean lean more heavily against him, his head resting against Richard’s shoulder. Richard freezes and hardly dares to breathe for a few seconds. When Dean doesn’t move, Richard slowly turns his head and peers down. Dean’s eyes are closed, his lips slightly parted and his chest rises in deep, even breaths that rasp in his throat. 

Richard watches him for a few moments, takes in how peaceful Dean looks, before he leans back against the couch carefully and returns to his emails. No point in jostling Dean awake. He needs all the rest he can get, and it’s not like the warm weight against his side is bothering Richard. 

~

Dean sleeps well into the evening, snoring against Richard’s shoulder and twitching every now and again, making Richard wonder what he’s dreaming about. By the time Dean stirs, Richard has managed to answer all his emails and watch a documentary about the Pre-Raphaelite brotherhood. 

“Good Morning.” 

Dean blinks up at Richard owlishly, blue eyes darkened by the shadows around them. 

“Did I fall asleep on you?” Dean mumbles as he sits up, knuckling at his eyes. “Sorry.” 

“It’s all right,” Richard shrugs, trying not to be too obvious about shaking out his arm, which was fallen asleep under Dean’s weight. 

“I’m going to make dinner. Do you wanna take a bath in the meantime?” 

“I’m not really hungry, but a bath sounds good,” Dean agrees, struggling to his feet. Richard doesn’t miss the way he sways, nor the trembling of his hands.

“I put some clothes for you in the guest room while you were sleeping, and I trust you still know where the bathroom is?” Or is Richard as host obliged to draw a bath for Dean? Honestly, this is by far the most complicated social situation he’s ever had to navigate. 

“Yeah, I’m good. Thanks, mate,” Dean gives Richard a thin smile, before leaving the room and slowly climbing the stairs. As Richard watches he can’t help but wonder just how horrible Dean feels at the moment. Richard’s experiences with hangovers are few, and he doubts that a simple hangover compares in any way to what Dean is going through at the moment. 

Shaking his head he reminds himself that Dean brought this upon himself and walks into the kitchen, peering into the fridge and trying to come up with something quick and healthy to make. It’s easier to think about food than to wonder - again - why on earth he is keeping a homeless guy around. 

~

Dean sinks into the hot water with a groan. He can’t remember the last time he had more than a hasty shower, and this is so, so much better. He doesn’t have to stand, which would be a problem at the moment, and the hot water relaxes his muscles, chases away the cold that’s settled into his bones and the dirt on his skin. It doesn’t wash away all his aches though, nor does it stop the trembling or drown the voice inside his head telling him that he needs something, anything. 

Taking a shaky breath Dean runs his hand through his hair and blinks. He needs to do something with his hands, occupy himself. Sitting up he reaches for the washcloth he took from one of the cabinets and starts to scrub at his skin until it turns red. He doesn’t feel much cleaner, and the panicked thoughts are growing louder and louder, echoing off the bathroom walls. 

What is he going to do? He can’t stay at Richard’s forever. He needs a hit soon, but there is no way he can go out. He doesn’t have money either, and considering how raw his throat is, how weak his body feels, he can’t pay by other means. Maybe Richard has alcohol in the house? Surely he does. A man like him is bound to keep bottles of expensive whiskey around. Dean just has to find them and drink some. Top them off with water maybe, so Richard won’t notice a difference. 

Dean sinks under the water and scrubs a hand through his hair. When he reemerges he gasps for breath and shakes his head. What is he thinking? Richard is _helping_ him, when he has no reason to, letting him stay and taking care of him, and all Dean can think about is stealing from him? 

“You’re fucked up,” he whispers, knuckling at his eyes. He’s an ungrateful piece of shit, undeserving of even a shred of Richard’s kindness. Dean knows that and yet. . . and yet the urge won’t go away. He stays seated in the tub until the water turns cold, hunched over and shaking, thoughts circling. What is he going to do? 

Lifting his head Dean looks at the bathroom cabinet and his breath stutters.


End file.
